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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23755153">On camera</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/treequirk/pseuds/treequirk'>treequirk</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Activist Steve Rogers, Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Artist Steve Rogers, Bartender Bucky Barnes, Bottom Steve Rogers, Drug Addiction, Drug recovery, F/M, Happy Ending, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, Hurts So Good, M/M, Non-Serum Steve Rogers/Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes | Shrinkyclinks, Pining Tony Stark, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Bucky Barnes, Sex Cam Worker Steve Rogers, Slow Burn, Steve has an Onlyfans, Stripper Steve Rogers, War Veteran Bucky Barnes, amateur porn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 16:47:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,000</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23755153</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/treequirk/pseuds/treequirk</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Did you like the new outfit?” Steve asks, climbing onto the seat. He takes a sip of his beer and looks at Bucky over the neck of it. </p><p>Bucky has to clear his throat. “Yeah.” </p><p>“I thought you would,” Steve replies. A hot knife twists in Bucky’s belly and he can’t help but blush again. The thought that Steve had ordered that skimpy little outfit and worn it for Bucky... He takes a drink of his beer, but it’s warm and yeasty. He sets it under the counter again. He’d open a new one later if he still wanted it. To keep the conversation going Steve says, “I made good tips.”</p><p> “I saw.”</p><p> “Well,” Steve drawls, “I had a good inspiration.” He looks to Bucky again, who almost groans out loud. </p><p> “Rogers..” Bucky starts, grappling for words that aren’t: you’re so hot and you drive me fucking crazy. </p><p>Or: The story where Steve Rogers is New York’s most popular nightclub dancer and sex work activist. Bucky Barnes is the bartender that falls in love with him.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clint Barton &amp; Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes &amp; Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Peter Parker &amp; Thor, Peter Parker/Thor, past Tony Stark/Steve Rogers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>49</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>On camera</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span></span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> Bucky’s a goddamn sap, a goddamn sap, and a </span>
  <em>
    <span>loser </span>
  </em>
  <span>because he’s walking into work with a cup of coffee for Steve who’s already </span>
  <em>
    <span>holding a cup of coffee. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He’s in a pair of tight, black shorts and a purple tee that exposes a line of his unblemished belly as he texts and then Bucky is </span>
  <em>
    <span>blushing. </span>
  </em>
  <span>A goddamn sap. A goddamn sap and a loser. Bucky looks frantically around for a place to hide the (</span>
  <em>
    <span>venti hot white mocha soy milk no whipped cream blond shots) </span>
  </em>
  <span>coffee. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So, of course, that’s when Steve looks up from his phone and happily exclaims: “Bucky!” Bucky smiles despite himself- it’s familiar, this little game they play. Bucky always looks forward to the weekends, when Steve works the 6P-2A shift. Working at a queer strip bar in Queens, New York was </span>
  <em>
    <span>always </span>
  </em>
  <span>fun, but shifts with Steve were something else entirely. Not just because Bucky loved watching Steve dance on stage (or because Steve would sometimes look at Bucky like the sexual display was for </span>
  <em>
    <span>him) </span>
  </em>
  <span>but because Bucky loved having Steve close by. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Steve!” Bucky returns, smiling sheepishly as he brandishes the coffee towards Steve. “I brought another cup of your favorite.” Steve laughs coolly like he’s unimpressed, but the apples of his cheeks get noticeably pinker under the soft yellow lights of the bar. The coffee is plucked away from him and Steve pushes down the cardboard sleeve, reading the symbols along the side of the cup. Bucky knows he’s done well when Steve steps on the toe of Bucky’s boots and plants a quick, glossy kiss on his cheek. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bucky’s left-hand flies up to his cheek, eyes playful. “Wow. All a fella has to do to get a kiss from ya is buy a cup of coffee? I woulda been doing this for mont-” Steve cuts him off with another kiss, this one on the lips. Bucky’s surprised, but he’s wanted this for long enough to respond naturally. Steve tastes sweet and warm, just like his fancy drink. When Steve pulls away he laughs once, a husky little thing against Bucky’s mouth. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You can buy a lot more than a kiss from me,” Steve says as Bucky’s left-hand settles on his hip, “But I cost a lot more than a cup of coffee.” Steve briefly kisses him one more time. All of Steve’s shiny gloss has been kissed away, but Bucky can taste a smear of it as he licks his lips. Steve laughs again- probably at the awestruck expression on Bucky’s face- and picks up his bright blue duffle bag. It’s covered in pins and patches- the biggest one near the handle reading: “I CARRY NALOXONE” the smaller one smaller snuggled beside it says “HARM REDUCTION SAYS LIVES.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When Steve sees Bucky is still just standing there, just </span>
  <em>
    <span>smiling at him, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he rolls his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shouldn’t you like, get to work or something?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bucky definitely should “get to work or something” so he does. Steve disappears into the back rooms to get ready. He fills up both his ice bins, methodically slices lemons and limes and juices orange after orange. There is a ritual to this- and Bucky loves the comfort in its familiarity. He’s plucking mint leaves from their stem when he hears the door open. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why isn’t this locked?” Natasha asks, shutting the door hard behind her. Her nose is scrunched in annoyance, and she looks almost fox-like with her red hair falling in a sheet to her shoulders. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know,” Bucky admits sheepishly, pulling a stout glass from the overhead shelving. In the back of the minifridge behind them, he finds a glass bottle of Russian Standard. He pours her two generous shots, which she knocks back without ceremony. Bucky cringes just watching.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When she sets the glass down, she slides it into Bucky’s waiting hand. Her green eyes are hard when she looks up, but there’s a soft edge. She wants to be angrier than she is. “Don’t leave the door unlocked.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I won’t,” Bucky reassures. “I’m sorry.” He adds again. He knows Steve had been the first to leave it open, but he knew to always lock it behind him before hours. After that, everything happens fast. The kisses he shared with Steve keep him buzzing. The other dancers for the evening, Peter and Thor, stumble in just a few minutes after Natasha. Peter is wearing a navy sweater with NYU stitched in white across it, and he’s got a school bag slung across his shoulder. The sharp point of a heel is protruding from a hole in the bottom of it. Thor is in a pair of white linen pants, feet stuffed into a pair of strappy sandals. His blond hair is windblown and his cheeks are stained with a sunburn. They both saddle up to the bar, and Bucky serves them up a vodka sprite and a finger of whiskey respectively. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bucky likes being a bartender. He likes making things for others to drink and enjoy. When he’d graduated high school, he’d packed up and joined the army like poor boys often do. He was a good student, but New York was a sticky place to work yourself through college. He served dutifully for eight years, six of which were overseas, before returning home. It wasn’t like the movies- there was no parade to greet him and no boyfriend waiting at the train station (just his mom). Adjusting had been difficult and his therapist at the VA finally convinced him to take a class or two at the neighborhood technical school. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sam wasn’t thrilled to find out it was bartending (war veteran, alcohol, higher risk of addiction, blah blah) but he was thrilled to find out Bucky enjoyed the physicality of it. Just like Bucky might load a gun, unlock the safety, align the sight and pull the trigger he could scoop the ice, measure the liquor, shake, garnish and pour. He liked the way people responded to his drinks a lot more than the way they responded to his bullet. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter and Thor chat with Bucky for a moment or two as they drink. Bucky asks about Peter’s school day, and Peter gushes for a while about some science project or other that Bucky doesn’t understand but still nods along to. Friday, Peter had told Bucky a while back, was the hardest day of the school week for him. He had class from eight in the morning to four in the afternoon, then he waited for Thor to get out of wrestling at five-thirty and the two of them sped across town towards Avenge. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is Tony here yet?” Thor asks (or yells, because he has no volume control) when Peter’s got Bucky all caught up on his day. Peter winces at the volume, reaching up to pet Thor's blond hair away from his ear. It’s red and engorged with blood. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” Bucky says, but Peter must see his horrified expression because he frowns hard.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter brushes the hair back again, and Thor doesn't shy from the touch. He isn’t embarrassed about his ear, more worried about Peter’s hands on him. “It’s from wrestling. I’ve looked into it- it’s called cauliflower ear. It’s from getting..” Peter trails off, vaguely waving his hands.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Getting slammed into the mat!” Thor rumbles, obviously nonplussed. His big hands paw at Peter's smaller body as he draws them together, “There is no need to worry, Peter! It does not hurt.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter mouths “it definitely hurts” at Bucky before rolling his eyes at Thor. He starts to pointedly push his boyfriend. “We better go get ready.” After that Avenge’s owner, Tony arrives, not even removing his sunglasses as he steps inside. He’s got long false nails on, and his face is at least partially painted because his lips are red. Bucky reaches for the tall stem of a martini glass and Tony smiles when he sees it. Tony was a peculiar house mom, eccentric and boastful... But he was also paternal, generous and loving in his sharp little way. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Dry?” Bucky asks, already reaching for the gin. “You look like you’re having a dry martini kind of day.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You know me so well, soldier boy,” Tony says. Bucky laughs, measuring the vermouth and spearing two green olives. Knowing Tony, in the way only Bucky can know someone, he tucks the rind of a lime over the lip of the glass and leans the toothpick on top. Tony takes the drink, and his hand is trembling. He nor Bucky say anything about how little Bucky has filled the cup. Tony takes a small, considering sip. He hums. “Is everyone here?” (Bucky knows exactly who </span>
  <em>
    <span>“everyone” </span>
  </em>
  <span>is.)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bucky nods, finally going back to the long-abandoned mint leaves. “Family’s all here, yeah.” This time it’s Tony who nods. He finishes his drink, popping the olives into his mouth. He chews thoughtfully. Behind the counter of the bar, Bucky was the ferryman of the underworld, welcoming you from the outside into the world of Avenge, with its warm yellow lights, red leathers and beautiful dancing boys named Steve. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bucky is startled abruptly from his thoughts when Tony says, “I saw you kissing Steve.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> The mint falls to Bucky’s side and his eyebrows jump almost to his hairline. “What?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I saw you,” Tony says, swirling his chewed toothpick around the glass, “On the cameras. When Steve came in, he tripped the alarm and I saw he was alone when I looked so I…” A pause. “I watched until you got here.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Tony,” Bucky murmurs, voice suddenly low. He throws a look at the door to the private rooms. When he’s reassured it’s closed he continues, “You know Steve wouldn’t like that.” And then, for no fucking reason at all, or maybe because he's angry at Tony for violating their privacy he says, “And if you were watching, you know Steve kissed </span>
  <em>
    <span>me.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Tony seems just as shocked as Bucky is that he’d just said that. Tony and Bucky were friends, but the Steve situation was sticky between them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tony was </span>
  <em>
    <span>obsessed</span>
  </em>
  <span> with Steve. Tony called it “protective”. Bucky had heard Steve go as far as to call it “light stalking”. It had recently become more serious, with Steve threatening to quit if Tony couldn’t respect his boundaries. A year ago, when Steve had first started at Avenge, Tony and Steve went steady for a while. It was only a couple of weeks, maybe. Bucky doesn’t know all the details of the break-up, but he knows Tony had wanted Steve to stop dancing. Tony had offered to pay for anything Steve wanted- just as long as he quit stripping. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Steve was still a stripper.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You can’t watch him from the cameras. If he keeps catching you pryin’ at him, he’ll quit. Is that watcha want?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You know that isn’t what I want.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Then stop bein’ so fuckin’ weird.” Bucky admonishes as he finishes pulling the mint. It’s silent for only a moment before the overhead speakers pop. Tony cowers and then the bar floods with music, all bright and poppy. Bucky could practically imagine Steve strutting on stage to this song, white kitten heels, and sheer blue chemise. Tony visually loosens under the music, pushing his wide framed sunglasses up his head so he could rub his eyes. Bucky wonders if Tony was seeing the same things in</span>
  <em>
    <span> his</span>
  </em>
  <span> head.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tony seems to have had enough of the uncomfortable silence because he pushes away from the counter. “I need to go glue my wig.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As if cued, there's a knock at the door. It’s just the excuse Tony needs to run away, but Bucky gently catches his wrist. Their eyes meet, and Bucky smiles in a way he hopes is comforting. Tony’s weird, yeah and yeah if he ever makes Steve uncomfortable again Bucky will… Well, Bucky will beat the shit out of him and probably lose his job. He hopes it doesn’t come to that because he likes being friends with Tony and making him dry martinis a lot more. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bucky realizes he's still holding Tony’s wrist. He lets it go and says, “Just be yourself.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s an awkward thing to say to a man more than ten years your senior, who’s covered in make-up and signs your paychecks but he had to say something. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tony smiles. It’s a sad one. “That’s who Steve didn’t like.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There's another burst of knocks, impatient this time. Tony smooths his top, they exchange ANOTHER nod, and Bucky rushes to open the door for their weekend DJ. He’s got rainbow hearing aids in both ears, dirty blond hair short and slicked into points. He’s in a tight purple tee, black harness strapped across his strong shoulders. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Clint.” Bucky greets, and they share a friendly handshake. Clint smiles, unabashed when he sees Natasha peering around the corner as she always does when he first arrives. She smiles back. It’s smaller but still very sincere. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Then it’s a real whirlwind. The bar opens at seven and Clint has only just finished hauling his equipment in through the front door when their bouncer, Bruce, arrives. Party time. Bucky wraps his black apron around his waist, deftly tying his hair into a low knot at the back of his head. He washes his hands up to his elbows. If he cracks open a beer for himself, hidden out of sight, that’s just for him to know.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The room is buzzing with people by the time Tony glides onto the stage. The cheers are</span>
</p><p>
  <span>deafening, fists banging on tables and men hollering up at the sight of Tony in her elegant red and gold-trimmed ball gown. It’s extravagant and more but Tony loves the attention and works the crowd. She’s comfortable in that place, with the power of her skirted legs and the mask of her heavy makeup. She’s like Tinkerbell, glowing under the praise and teasing hollers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bucky feels a little bit of the worry he holds for Tony growing in his chest, like the rotten seed of a sour plant. Sam from the VA has insisted Bucky draw plain lines in the sand with Tony, telling him he was complicit in Tony’s... Harassment of Steve otherwise. Bucky understood the sentiment. There are no innocent bystanders. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bucky makes a Tequila Sunrise. Then he makes a Moscow Mike. Then an Aperol Spritz. A rum and coke. He’s making an espresso martini when Tony finally introduces Steve to the stage. Bucky can see him easily over the crowd, thanks to the lifted stage. He’s wearing a white school uniform, completed by a pleated skirt and pair of tall white socks. His lips are painted a soft, young pink. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> Before Bucky can stop himself he whistles appreciatively, long and low. The noise pierces through the excited cheers of the crowd and Steve’s eyes flick momentarily in his direction. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky’s face quickly heats with a familiar blush. He knows he’s hidden well enough by the shadows and distance, that Steve can see him but just barely. He barely remembers to finish the martini and slides it to the waiting guest, who leaves a crumpled 1$ bill in his wake. Bucky stuffs it into the tip jar at the end of the counter as the song changes and Steve’s routine starts. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Steve was the most popular dancer at Avenge, no questions asked. He had a group of dedicated regulars and a semi-famous Instagram that often drew new men into the bar. Tonight’s no different- men clamber all over themselves to drop bills onto the stage, some holding out their hands in an eager hope that Steve will grab the cash himself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He won’t. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Steve moves around the stage, unbuttoning the cropped white blouse with faux unsure movements. He looks up through his lashes at the crowd and the men scream encouragement. When the shirt falls open to reveal the unblemished expanse of his hairless chest and hard nipples Bucky gasps a little under his breath. The blushing virgin act always stirred something primal and embarrassing in Bucky. Steve looks over at him then and Bucky stops wiping down the counters to watch closely. Steve slowly runs his palms down his chest, breaths heaving. He tweaks his nipple, mouth parting dazedly as he watches Bucky for reactions. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bucky can only stare, unembarrassed but growing hotter under the collar of his button-up. God. What Bucky would do to Steve if Steve would finally let their flirtations extend past the wooden walls of the bar. They like each other- had been dancing around it for weeks but now they’d </span>
  <em>
    <span>kissed. </span>
  </em>
  <span>That had to change everything for Steve, the way it did for Bucky. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The dance is hot. Ridiculously hot. Which Bucky supposes is the point, because Tony has to join Steve on stage at the end to help him pick up all the money strewn across it. Natasha dances next, but Bucky doesn’t watch. He’s too busy waiting for Steve to slink out of the side door and up to the bar for his first drink of the evening. Bucky’s evening revolves around Steve- and it can’t continue until he’s popped the top of Pabst Blue Ribbon and hand-delivered it. Like clockwork, Steve emerges in the middle of Natasha’s song wearing tight black shorts again. He doesn’t seem surprised to find a cold, open beer waiting for him at the very edge of the bar. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Did you like the new outfit?” Steve asks, climbing onto the seat. He takes a sip of his beer and looks at Bucky over the neck of it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bucky has to clear his throat. “Yeah.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I thought you would,” Steve replies. A hot knife twists in Bucky’s belly and he can’t help but blush again. The thought that Steve had ordered that skimpy little outfit and worn it for Bucky... He takes a drink of his beer, but it’s warmed and yeasty. He sets it under the counter again. He’d open a new one later if he still wanted it. To keep the conversation going Steve says, “And I made good tips.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I saw.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well,” Steve drawls, “I had a good inspiration.” He looks to Bucky again, who almost groans out loud. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Rogers..” Bucky starts, grappling for words that aren’t: </span>
  <em>
    <span>you’re so hot</span>
  </em>
  <span> and </span>
  <em>
    <span>you drive me crazy</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Steve’s phone lights up from its permanent place in his hand and he frowns at it, sliding quickly off the stool. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Duty calls!” He chirps. He abandons his half-finished beer, so Bucky tips the rest of it back into his mouth. He catches sight of Natasha in her tight leather getup and whistles again, just for fun. After that, he’s busy making drink after drink after drink. He recognizes a few regulars and gets to delight them with their usual drink. It’s easy for Bucky to remember the small things like that because the army taught him the importance of details. A forgotten coordinate or command could mean death, especially if that was all you dealt in. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After everything Bucky had seen, knowing you wanted a Manhattan didn’t seem like a big deal.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He knows Thor has come on stage when he hears the roar of: “Who wants this hammer!” The shrieks of delight from the crowd embolden Thor, who rips the top off his fireman’s uniform. More screams as the torn fabric fall to the floor. By the time Steve is dancing again the bar is packed, folks leaning against the counter and walls to cheer for the city’s prettiest twink. Bucky wonders what it would feel like, to look across a crowded room and know everyone’s there to watch you get half undressed on stage. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucky watches Steve hungrily, but Steve doesn’t look at him again. Steve knows exactly what he’s doing to Bucky. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This is the game they play every weekend and Steve </span>
  <em>
    <span>always </span>
  </em>
  <span>wins. When the night is over, Bucky counts his tips and stuffs the wad of cash into his wallet before he sets out to sweep the room. Cups, crumpled napkins and small plastic straws litter the floor as Bucky methodically cleans the room. He’s washing the rest of his dirty glasses when Thor, Peter, and Natasha plod into the room. Everyone looks tired, with finger-combed hair and freshly washed faces. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“‘‘Twas a good night!” Thor says, louder than ever in the fresh silence. There’s a heavy thunk as Clint jumps down from the booth, enveloping Natasha in his arms. Bucky knows Clint had already packed up and was simply waiting for her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Who she was to him, Bucky did not know. But they always left together when he was here. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Natasha, seemingly still not in the mood to chat, stays hunched under Clint's embrace. She bids Bucky a grumpy farewell. He returns it with about the same energy and goes back to washing dishes as Bruce protectively follows Thor and Peter out to their car. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When he returns he loiters hesitantly in the doorway.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Go ahead,” Bucky tells him, “I’ll wait for Steve and Tony.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bruce must be satisfied by the offer because he says: “Thanks man, I appreciate that.” And leaves without another word. Bucky sets the last of his cleaned glasses to dry and pulls out his phone to pass the time. Steve wanders in just minutes later, button laden bag cradled in his arms. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Where’s Tony?” The question makes Steve bristle, and Bucky immediately wishes he could take it back. Steve lifts his chin and stares directly at Bucky. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His voice is tight. “I don’t know. Is there a reason you’d think I know?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No.” Bucky quickly assuages, opening the hinged counter and grabbing his keys. “I’m sorry I asked.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay.” Is all Steve says, but he waits patiently for Bucky to flip the lights before heading outside. The air is crisp, autumn slowly turning over into winter. Aside from Steve’s beat-up bug and Bucky’s truck, the lot is empty. Bucky squints before turning his back to lock the door behind them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bucky walks Steve over to his car and watches him shove the bag into the back seat. A button that reads: MAKE AMERICA GAY AGAIN flashes humorously at him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I had a good night,” Steve says, uncharacteristically awkward as he holds the door handle. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bucky rubs his hand along the back of his neck, “I did too.” Before his deployment, Bucky had been better at all of this. War had made him tentative like any misstep could detonate and he </span>
  <em>
    <span>liked </span>
  </em>
  <span>Steve. “Maybe we could see each other again. Soon. Not here. Like…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“A date?” Steve interrupts.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Bucky confirms, “Like a date.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Steve seems to consider this for a moment. Bucky wonders if he’s broken some unspoken rule of their game. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Finally, Steve says, “Okay. Give me your phone.” And then Steve is putting his number into Bucky’s phone and Bucky’s trying not to vibrate out of his fucking skin but his excitement shows anyways and Steve smiles at him. A warm, toothy little smile. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Text me,” Steve says, then ducks into his car. The door closes. Bucky’s still standing there when Steve turns the key, flips the headlights on and rolls out of the parking lot. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The drive home is a blur and Bucky’s phone practically burns a hole into his pocket. He wants to text Steve right then, but it’s late and shouldn’t. Instead, he clambers into bed after eating a bowl of cold soup and pulls up Twitter. He’s about to start his nightly aimless scrolling when a small red icon indicates he has a notification.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s suggesting a profile. The user “NewYorkTwink” is apparently in his contacts, and when he presses the small profile icon it expands. The picture is a flat chest, covered by pink lace and mesh. It’s the hands that trigger the memory of Steve touching his own nipple for Bucky, just a few hours ago. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The bio reads: “I’m just a little guy he/him/his”. What almost sends Bucky’s phone across the room is the link, embedded in the profile. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The onlyfans link. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
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</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Grammarly is my beta</p></blockquote></div></div>
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